Designed that Way
by TheWaterFox
Summary: He didn't want her to know the truth. She was too young to realize he was fibbing. But it eased her mind... and that's all he'd ever wanted. [pre-game, during-game, post-game, shifting perspectives.]


**A quick author's note:** First attempt at a fanfiction after a two-year hiatus of it. I haven't written a fanfiction in a long time. The end of this kicked my butt. Review if you wish, and be brutal if you do! -WF

* * *

**Designed that Way**

* * *

_Even the homeless have taste in things. Music, reading... even art. They're human, after all._

He'd never forget those... condescending words spoken to him. Though it would have been normal and natural to bite back at them and tell him just how right he was, and now to back off out of the alley he was in... the man had smiled, and given him a small slip of paper. A dirtied hand reached out, fingers clenching the paper, and took it from its offered place. "What's this...?"

"A ticket to the opening of the Art Gallery! Warm food will be given, and possibly a place to stay for the night if you're lucky!"

Those words would come to bite the lavender-haired male in the future. Lucky, indeed, as he pocketed the ticket, muttering about how he'd think about it. As if he had time to think about it. As if he had something else better to do, than sit in the alleyway, in ruffled brown pants and a stained turquoise t-shirt, clinging to his tall and abnormally thin body. Clenching his warm but ratty coat around him all the tighter, as the jolly ticketmaster passed right on by.

Lucky, indeed.

* * *

_Why is your coat all worn out?_

Normally the question didn't faze the tall male. It was simple, and had been asked a lot. Garry did, after all, manage to look quite clean on all the skin that he showed - which wasn't much beyond his hands, wrists, neck and face - and even with unkempty and knotty hair, he was able to keep up the appearance that he had a home. Somewhere out there. A home that wasn't the street.

"It's just designed that way." Smile. Smile until they walk away. Which they did, all of them. One after the other.

He'd taken the opportunity to see the art gallery when he'd been given the ticket, and offered warm food, a chance to have a warm home. Who was he kidding, if he turned that down?

He didn't know what he was getting into, when he set foot into that gallery. Suppose when everyone disappeared as he headed downstairs in what he assumed to be a hidden exhibit, he assumed they'd been sent home. It was dark enough he didn't know if closing time had occurred or not. If so, maybe this was what the ticketmaster meant by a place to stay? It all seemed to strange, and Garry turned to head back upstairs. Homeless or not, even he had morals, and staying in a gallery after hours certainly wasn't allowed. Even if it was warm.

...even if there was no way out.

Baffled, Garry had shaken it off at first, heading down the stairs. He passed by a vase of roses, just two, red and blue. But he didn't touch them. They weren't his after all.

After several rounds of the dark floors, he came across a message painted on the wall by the flowers. It hadn't been there before... Garry blinked, and read it in the dim light, _What's your favorite color, Garry?_ Did it mean the roses? Garry had stared at them for a while, sweat crawling down his back from his walks and lap about the darkened halls. "Out of what's presented? Guess... I'd have to pick blue."

Touching those petals changed his life. In ways the ticket and its master never did before.

* * *

_I'm going to die here._

Was the thought in Garry's mind after seeing the horrors of this "Other" realm. This "Other" gallery. He'd been chosen, as the ticketmaster hinted. A place to stay that was warm. The warm meal came before he'd stepped down into the hidden stairwell... and it only took several 'hours' to realize with a glance to his watch that time froze down here. With frozen time, in spite of Garry's movements and energy-reducing excursions, he didn't get tired. He didn't get hungry.

Unless they got him.

Clawed hands from the wall. Cat slobber. Running headless mannequins.

The worst one... the Lady in Blue.

She'd surprise him, attacked him as he peered too close. She'd snatched his rose, and plucked its precious petals off. He started with forty, in seconds he was down to twenty, and slumped to his knees. With each pound of his heart, his steps after her grew staggered, until he dropped to his knees. Laying on the floor, he felt twenty slow down and fall steadily. His eyes closed.

How much time passed - or didn't pass - when he next woke up, he didn't know. But when his eyes met wide and young red ones, framed by a brown mop of straight hair, and a girl gazing at him... the first reaction he had was to dodge away. He trusted nothing in this place, and enough horror movies back in his high school days, when they had the house, taught him never to trust little girls. Except she silently held out his flower to him in her petite and small hand, and had her head tilted curiously.

The blue rose had been freshly watered, Garry noticed. That should bring it back to full strength, right? Yet here it was with a measly ten petals on it. He didn't mention that it had more or anything, once upon a time, just offered the girl a weary smile, and took the flower. "Are you stuck here, too?" he asked, voice soft, so to not scare her off. Of course, if she'd made it this far with her hair impeccably straight and her red skirt and white blouse hardly tarnished, well... there was strength there.

She nodded. More pleasantries were exchanged, they learned of each other's names. And Garry and Ib began to journey together.

* * *

_You had a nightmare?_

When they'd first met, Garry willed himself to open up to Ib a bit more. She was a young girl, half his age, and there were times that it showed. Jump scares had her clinging to his hand, and other times soft breaths and gasps broke from her lips at some of the things in the gallery. Though Ib easily came from a rich family, she didn't think twice about his ratty coat or old clothes, his messy hair or the streaks of dirt on his pale face. The first time she jumped and hugged him in the slightest fright, and he'd safely whisked her away, though, her small brows furrowed.

"You're malnourished."

It was surprising, how a girl her age knew such a word. But Garry had just smiled and pet her brown hair. "Nah. I've just been here a long time." He thought. How long _had_ he been there, really? Ib didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway. Following that conversation, Garry began to try an entertain the young girl. Keep her away from seeing some frightful images, and making a comical mess of a few things - most especially that blasted cat slobber that always had him slipping, tripping, and crushing a petal of his rose. Ib had said something had happened like that to her, too.

Her rose was five-petaled. He refused to let it fall to zero.

But after a truly hectic flight, with a terribly frightened Ib in his arms, Garry decided enough was enough. "We'll rest in here," he decided, whisking her into the room of books. Ib looked exhausted, more so than when Garry himself had lost to the Lady in Blue. But she was smaller, her rose was smaller. Her mind was more open, easier to break. But he strove to keep it together, as she clambered a little onto his lap, and fell asleep against his warmth.

Only when he left, and gave her the coat, did the nightmare hit her. Only when she was left alone. He regretted doing that, and as a palsy form of apology, he offered her a candy from his coat. She accepted it, and Garry saw her smile, a true smile, for the first time.

* * *

"Garry?"

"Yes, Ib?"

"Why is your coat... so ratty?"

First impressions could be wrong, he decided, as he closed the book he'd been reading as she slept, and recovered from the nightmare. He accepted it from her offering, small arms, and smiled easily.

"It was designed that way, Ib. Don't worry about it."

* * *

It was a few years later. Upon packing up for college and stumbling across that small outfit of hers, the red skirt, white shirt, and red collar, did she begin to remember. She was older now, and she understood. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulled out a small wrapped yellow candy, a lemon flavored and crunchy treat, that hadn't lost its shine over the many years.

_Designed that way._

False.

He didn't want her to know the truth. She was too young to realize he was fibbing. But it eased her mind... and that's all he'd ever wanted.

Wherever he was now, Ib didn't know, and didn't remember. With shaking hands, she unwrapped the candy, and slid it between her lips. Closing her eyes, she shuddered and sighed. Still flavorful. Still full of memories. His smile, his care, his long legs taking her to safety, his warmth.

His coat.

_Designed that way_.

Maybe her memories of him were designed that way, too.


End file.
